


Melting Point

by HastaLux



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dominant Mycroft, Light BDSM, M/M, Submissive Greg, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-08-01 02:46:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16276349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HastaLux/pseuds/HastaLux
Summary: This is just smut, as prompted by the following:Your dialogue: "That isn't mine." and "Don't say a word."The circumstances... in a bedroom on a SundayAnd you must mention... something stolen





	Melting Point

Greg is not expecting it when he comes out of a leisurely late-morning shower, cheerfully wrapped in only a towel, to find Mycroft sitting on their bed with an open, half-used carton of cigarettes beside him. The pointed look being levelled at in him tells him he is already in  _ very _ deep trouble, but he still feels that stupid pull to  _ lie _ , like any common fucking criminal.

“That isn’t mine.”

Mycroft lifts a brow, slowly. “Gregory. Let’s not be disingenuous.”

Greg shifts his weight, looking anywhere but precisely at Mycroft, because that will give him away even more than what he’s sure Mycroft already knows, being a fucking Holmes.  _ Ah, shit. Knew that was a terrible idea. _

“Gregory.”

His eyes dart up. Mycroft is looking at him in that bloody unreadable way the Holmeses have. It’s the sort of look that usually precedes either an argument or one of them getting very thoroughly fucked. Sometimes both.

“I want you to explain to me what you thought was going to happen.”

“Er.” Greg looks at the ceiling, then back to Mycroft. “Prolly wasn’t a ton of thinking involved, if I’m being honest.”

“Mmhm.” Mycroft gets up, striding across the bedroom. Greg hold his ground, sheepishly clinging to his towel. His husband is quick to zero in on that, wrapping his slim fingers around it but not letting it drop yet. He’s not angry, not really, because that would be hypocritical and they both know it, but Mycroft does like playing the part and Greg cannot say he has any objections to that particular inclination.

_ Mmm. Faux-angry sex.   _ Not bad. Greg can already feel his cock taking an interest, but really there’s very little his cock isn’t interested in when it comes to Mycroft. “I can-“

“No, no. Don’t say a word, love. You weren’t thinking, right? So I am going to do the thinking for you.”

_ Oh god yes.  _ Cock definitely interested.  _ Jesus.  _

Greg shuts his mouth, enjoying it as Mycroft runs his finger across his lips to emphasize the point. “You will be silent, is that clear? Nod for me, Gregory.”

Nod he does.  _ Yes, yup, very clear, please continue. _

“Good boy.” Mycroft gets very close to him, enough for his lips to brush against Greg’s ear, but Greg does not get nearly enough contact to sate his sudden need for it. “Get on the bed. On your belly.”

Greg does so, with a minimum of arse waggling and other tempting maneuvers. Not that much tempting is required when he is already nude and quite willingingly at Mycroft’s mercy.

He cannot, however, hold back a twitch when he hears the sound of a match being struck behind him.

“As you cannot seem to restrain yourself with… a little burn in your lungs….” Greg feels Mycroft’s weight settle just behind his arse, pinning his legs. “Let’s see if we cannot… redirect that need to your skin.”

He leans close, breath hot in Greg’s ear as he arranges his arms over his head, not tying him- no, that would make it too easy. “You may wish to hold on to the mattress, pet.”

_ God- fucking- _

This is going to be one of those days where he’s going to be blessing the heavens for putting him in Mycroft’s lap while cursing them for how bloody creative his lover can get. He can already tell.

The wait is killer, particularly when he knows what’s coming. Mycroft keeps him on his toes with puffs of air, both cool and hot, and the occasional drag of his nails down Greg’s back. Greg knows this game, it’s all stimulation and nerve endings and tricking the mind until-

“Fuck!” 

He can’t help jerking as the first drizzle of wax cross his shoulder blade.

“Do stay still, love. You know how hard it is to get this out of the sheets.”

Greg does but  _ God _ it’s hard, especially when the next drizzle comes down in a delightful mix of pleasure-pain right along his spine. And another. And another, until Greg is a mess of sensation and burning stillness while Mycroft whispers to him about the patterns he’s making- Greg catches the word  _ fractals _ in there somewhere, but he wouldn’t know what that meant even in his right mind, and he’s not entirely certain he has a mind  _ left  _ at this point. 

“Shhh,” Mycroft murmurs, quelling the high, keening noises Greg didn’t even know he’d been making. “There you are. Aren’t you so very good for me, pet? Stay right there- that’s it. Shhh….”

Slick fingers part him, open him, and when Mycroft sinks home Greg buries his sobs of want in the mattress. He cannot even tell  _ what _ he wants anymore, only that Mycroft can give it to him.

He’s pleading, cock pinned with only the scantest friction between himself and the mattress. Even Mycroft’s pace isn’t enough to do much else and, despite his whines, Mycroft pulls out before he comes and adds that to the arrangement of wax on Greg’s back.

“Perfect….”

“Myc- please, please, I need-”

“I know, I know, pet. Up on your knees for me- slow, keep your back level- excellent, that’s perfect.” Smooth slickness parts him, cold in contrast to the heat-stung nerves along his back, and he quivers, whimpering. He gasps when Mycroft enters him, feeling the first firm, slow thrust of pain-pleasure-

The rest is a blur of feeling. Pounding fullness within him, his cock pulsing on its own before Mycroft at some point gives him permission to touch it- the tidal surge of his orgasm making him buck, held back by strong hands at his hips as the world goes temporarily white-

He comes down from it splayed on towels-  _ no idea when Myc got those out- _ with steady, careful hands carding over his back, removing the wax deftly and delicately. His voice is still sex-slurred and husked with the comfortable edges of his post-coital haze.

“Myc?”

“Yes, pet?”

“I’m’a steal your cigs more often if you do that every time.”

Mycroft smacks him lightly across the bum, making Greg giggle. “You are supposed to be quitting.”

“So are you!”

“ _ I _ was saving that pack. For emergencies.”

“Bollocks, you were hiding them in the planter. Besides, you just like an excuse to get me bent over the furniture.” Greg sneaks a look behind himself and catches Mycroft shaking his head and smiling. “Don’t need an excuse for that, you know.”

“Incorrigible.”

“You like it.” 

Mycroft sighs, shifting up the bed to plant a gentle kiss on his lover’s cheek. “Yes, well. When a medical professional orders me to discontinue their use, you may return the favor if I misstep.”

“Excellent,” Greg grins and reaches for his phone.

“Doctor Watson does not count, Gregory.”

“Medical professional!” 

“Biased.”

“Don’t be like that, I’ll give you a whole day to get rid of the rest of yours. Give me time to think of something creative at work tomorrow.”

“Expecting a boring Monday?”

“God, yes. Criminals don’t want to go to work either.”

“Mm.” Mycroft brushes a stray lock of hair out of Greg’s face, looking fond and serious at the same time. “I love you. Stop smoking.”

Greg feels his heart pull. “God. Fine. Think you can find a distraction the next time the urge strikes?”

Mycroft hums an amused agreement. “I believe I can think of something suitable.”


End file.
